The Woodsman
by TheCleverDame
Summary: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader - A/B/O Fairy Tale - You're a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned 'Mad King' of France. When you're waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health. Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con.
1. Part One

You've ridden since you were a girl, but leisurely weekend rides through the French countryside with your father did little to prepare you (or your buttocks) for this never ending journey. The pain from weeks of travel has set in and you find your day-to-day is little more than an exercise in controlling the pain. Your backside and thighs are so sore that every step the horse takes results in pure agony.

"Do you need to stop?" Peter inquires, trotting up beside you with a hand on his hip. He is truly in his element.

You hired two men when you fled France, offering them just enough money to ensure loyalty, or so you thought. Peter had been a member of your father's personal detail, a former knight of the king's inner circle. When your brother took the crown he retired Peter, an act the old knight is unlikely to forgive in the near future. He'd been all too happy to assist you, eager to leave the past behind him and, although he's getting on in years, it appears that he can still wield a sword and take a punch.

You'd given him the liberty of choosing his second.

Peter chose Luther, a young blacksmith whom he trusted. Luther swore he'd traveled to Scotland so many times that he could make the trip without a map. Now, as you wander lost somewhere near the border, it's becoming increasingly clear Luther often exaggerates his navigation skills.

"I'll be fine for a little while longer." You force a smile, flinching as the horse jerks forward.

"I think we should stop here for the night, it will be dark soon and you're in pain, m'lady." Peter slows his horse and you follow suit. Dismounting with an grunt, legs chattering.

"We should find the river by midday tomorrow," Luther's looking at a hand drawn map that you're fairly sure he has upside down.

"I certainly don't want to be the one to shake your confidence, Luther, but we've been moments away from this elusive river for days now." You shake your head as Peter takes the reins, leading your horse to a small tree.

"She's right," Peter confirms. "We can't keep investing time in a plan that doesn't seem to be working. I'll ride ahead at first light and scout our path. If we fail to cross the river to the east, we'll head west instead."

Luther builds a fire and Peter divides what's left of your food rations, which is little more than bread and water. You unroll your pack, finding a patch of thick moss for padding and make your bed for the evening. Sleeping on the ground doesn't get any easier. If your thighs aren't throbbing from the ride there's a twinge in your back that takes over.

You unpack your things, subtly checking the small sack that contains all the wealth you have in the world. You absconded with your late mother's collection of jewels and enough gold to start a comfortable new life if you can just lay low for long enough.

Making your bed for the evening you settle in as close to the fire as one dares. The meager heat helps your bones from chattering in the night and you drift off to sleep on the naked ground under the wide, open sky.

The thieves come in the middle of the night. You're awakened to the sound of shouts in the dark, rolling to your feet in a panic. Two men have Luther by his arms, dragging him across the ground.

"Don't kill me! I can help you. She has gold in her pack!" Luther cries, pointing to you. _That little shit._

While his defection isn't a complete surprise, you're in awe it happened so quickly.

"It's in her saddlebag." Peter confirms, turning on you just the same as Luther. There's a man behind him with a knife to his throat, and you might've forgiven his treacherous words if he'd put up at least some fight. The old man's betrayal is just as swift as your useless blacksmith-turned-guide.

This is how you find yourself alone in a strange land at the mercy of ruthless marauders.

The man behind Peter drives the knife into the knight's gut and you scream in horror. Two men flank you when you try to run. In the blink of an eye there are hands on your pulling and tugging as you thrash, fighting as hard as you can until it becomes a futile effort.

The rock to the back of your head abruptly ends the struggle. It's a quick blow that doesn't hurt, more confusing as your vision goes blurry, then dark. You don't feel your body hit the ground with a soft oomf.

If one were to look for a positive in the situation perhaps it could be found in that the men who robbed and beat you had no interested in dominating you physically. After the hit to the back of your skull they could easily taken advantage of your limp body. Whether they assumed you dead or simply had no interested in rape, they leave you bleeding and lifeless.

And that's exactly how Dean finds you.

-.-

Your mind wakes up before your eyes open.

The smell of the hearth is overpowering and the flames are close enough to warm your arm. You blink once, twice, then wink all the way open. The world is blurry, the muted outline of shapes moving the shadows. Groaning and twisting you try to sit up only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder pushing you back down.

There's a rush of panic and confusion. You try to move again only to be held down as two rough hands hold you place. You can feel the touch of calloused palms on your bare shoulders. The voice that speaks to you from somewhere in the ether is low and distinctly male. "Try not to move yet, you were hit on the head."

"What…" you mumble, blinking again and this times it shakes the clutter free. Your vision clears and the crackling fire in the dark of the room comes into focus. Suddenly, there's a face above you, that of man. He tucks hair behind his ear and looks down with a grimace.

"How many fingers do you see?" He asks holding up two digits.

"I, uh," your throat is on fire and you sputter before answering. "Two?"

"Two is right.. Are you thirsty?" You nod empathically and his disappears from view. Feeling a tad more lively, you begin to take stock of your situation. You reach up to explore the throbbing at the back of your head and wince when your fingers make contact with a sizeable goose egg. The man chastises your immediately.

"Don't touch it." He instructs you as if he's quite used to giving orders that are summarily followed without question. While you're not accustomed to being spoken to so harshly it's the least of your concerns as you begin to inspect the rest of your body only to find that you're stark naked under the thick blanket. Panic rises in your chest at the scent of this man who's apparently taken such liberties.

He's an Alpha.

He must be watching your realization because he snorts from across the room. "Your clothing was in tatters and you had wounds that needed to be dressed. I have clothes for you but they needed to be washed. They'll be dry by morning."

He kneels beside you again and this time you get a better look at him. He's tall and imposing with wide, strong shoulders, he's no doubt a manual laborer. His face is handsome if one prefers a jugged, scruff of a jaw. When he hands you a cup of water his gargantuan hands dwarfs yours and you gulp. He could take anything he wanted from you with minimal effort.

You drink the water, sputtering before pulling yourself together and tipping back the entire glass. When you're finished he takes the mug from you and offers you a hand sitting up. You're weary but in no condition to refuse him so you accept the offer. His palm is wide and rough against your soft skin and you curse your Omega biology when your body responds to the contact, eliciting a low stir in your belly.

"Thank you," snatching your hand away you hold the blanket over your chest, determined to preserve what little modesty you have left, sitting up straight. Your mother always said that personal fortitude in the face of adversity could make any situation better. So, you gather what confidence you can muster, lifting your chin. "May I be so bold as to ask who removed my clothing?"

"I did" he retorts, sitting on the floor next you, his arm draping over a bent knee. You pray that he doesn't see the blush in your cheeks.

"You found it necessary to leave me nude on the floor of your…" you look around taking in your surroundings, "your small hut."

His eyes twitch. It won't be the last time you manage to insult him without a second thought.

"Yes, I did." He states, watching you intently.

"Well, I can see you are a man of many words." You quip refusing to be intimidated.

He forces a strained smile. "My brother found you in the woods along with two other men, both of them died. It would appear that you were left for dead as well. He brought you to me. I dressed your wounds and did my best to keep you alive."

"Oh," You feel a bit foolish, but the reality of the situation is that you're an unclaimed Omega in the presence of an Alpha who's motives remain unconfirmed.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a healer."

"I'm not." He shrugs. "I'm a forrester, a woodcutter."

"There is no healer in your village?"

"There is," he nods "but I wouldn't trust him with a my brother's pig."

 _He just compared you to a barnyard animal._

"Well, I am glad that to know that I hold the same value as your brother's beloved swine."

"You are quite bold, madame," he runs a hand over his mouth.

"Would you prefer it if I were more timid?" You raise an eyebrow toward him.

"No. I would prefer that you don't speak at all." He appears to enjoy the look of shock on your face. He stands up and hands you one of his oversized shirts. "It's clean enough. I'll let your dress yourself."

He moves to the other side of the room and turns his back to you, offering privacy. You pull the shirt over your head, wincing as the sore muscles of your arms strain with the effort. Gathering your strength you stand one wobbly legs and the tunic drops down neally to your knees.

He is large indeed.

Glancing to make sure he's not watching, you lift the hem of the linen and twist, inspecting the massive, dark bruise on your buttock. There's a bandage around your thigh just above the knee and it aches enough for you to know the gash must be deep. Satisfied that with state of your injuries you look to him, "I'm dressed, you may turn around."

"Good. Are you hungry?" He asking moving to stir the pot over the fire.

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, making you realise that you're starving. "Yes, very much." You watch him stoke the fire. "May I ask your name?"

"Sam Winchester, and may I ask yours?" There's an air in his tone that irks you, but you chose to let is pass.

"Y/N," you offer only your first name with no details, and he doesn't press the issue.

"Take a seat," Sam gestures toward the small table.

You sit gingerly in the chair. Your bottom is bruised, not only from days of riding, but from the fall you took during the attack. You've got sore parts you didn't know you had.

"Samuel," you begin.

"Sam," he sets a bowl of rabbit stew in front of you. It's been more than a day since you last ate, and then it was only a meager amount of flat bread. Your stomach growls as you watch him carefully prepare his own meal before settling in across from you.

"Eat, you must be hungry and you need your strength."

"Samuel," you start again. You think it's best to stay formal, there's no need for such familiarity with a stranger, especially an Alpha. It's important to set boundaries. "How long have I been here?"

"One night, two days." He tears the end of a loaf of bread and hands it to you. "Eat."

"Would you mind telling me exactly where I am?" Picking up a spoon you stir the soup, finding chunks of meat along with carrots and potatoes. It's a heartier meal than you imagined from a man with such meager surroundings.

"A village just north of the Midsomer outpost. You're in Scotland."

"Thank goodness," a sense of relief falls over you. Peter was sure your were out of England, but he couldn't be sure. You'd been lost for days wandering in the wilderness. "My party was lost when the marauders attacked. Even our tracker wasn't sure if we had crossed the border. The men that I was traveling with were both…less than courageous when the assault took place, I thought for sure I'd be killed, or worse."

"You want to tell me what you were doing lost in the woods with two men who barely knew where they were?"

"We were," you stumble over your words. The cover story you prepared fades away as your head wound throbs. "On our way to visit relatives."

"You're a long way from France, Princess."

You freeze, dropping your spoon back to the table. "You know who I am?"

"Yes," he replies casually, shoveling stew into his mouth.

"How?"

"I tended to the man that was with you, the younger man survived for nearly a day. Once the fever took him he said a lot of things. I thought maybe he was delirious until you started talking. You're clearly accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. "

"Well, I-" You're also not used being spoken to in such a brazen manner. "So much for discretion."

"Drink your wine." There, he does it again, telling you what to do. You hesitate, it's been days since you've eaten a full meal and wine always has effects on you. No, it's best to keep your wits about you.

Sam seems rather subdued, but you've heard stories your whole life about Alphas of his stature. The very nature of an Alpha is that of barbaric fulfillment, or at least that's what you've been lead to believe. In your circles the few Alphas that exist have spent their lives learning the finer points of refinement, they're fastidious in their gentlemanly arts, restrained and polite but only because they've had the restraint of social obligation to do so.

A man like the one across from you has had no such civilized training, and, although he's not yet tried to mount you like an animal, you don't know that he won't.

"My head hurts quite badly. I don't think wine will help."

"The nights here are very cold, you'll do well by drinking now to keep warm later."

"And I am to spend the night…here?" You look around at his small cottage, the thatched walls and dirt floor. Sam watches somewhere between wonder and amusement as you lower your voice and lean across the table, whispering. "I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to be here with you…in the night."

Sam chuckles, it's a good thing he's the only one here, and he already knows your true identity, because there is no way you'd last in the real world. You're as out of your element as a fish on dry land. "It's here or it's the barn, your choice."

"I don't, well I…" you sit back in your seat. He might be teasing you or he might very well serious but you're not having either one. "I hate to point out such an obvious circumstance but you are an Alpha."

"I'm aware," Sam nods trying to hold back a smile.

When he doesn't have a reaction you shake your head and look around as if there might be someone hiding in the corner. Whispering again, as if you're telling him a secret, you explain "And I am an Omega."

"Yes, I had noticed that." He sits back in his chair. You're struggling to explain what's concerning you but he has a pretty good idea. "Are you worried what people will think? Or that I'm going to take you like wild beast in the middle of night?"

"Both." You admit looking at the uneaten dinner in front of you. Embarrassment doesn't begin to describe the regret you instantly feel. Here is a man who's brought you into his home and done nothing except for tend to your wounds and feed you. The fact that he's already seen you naked notwithstanding, he's mostly been a gentleman save for a few cheeky remarks.

"Not to worry," he stands up and moves to the pot, refilling his bowl. "My brother and Martha are the only ones who know you're here. And as far as my uncontrollable urges, I can assure you that I've no interest in someone like you."

 _Someone like you?_ You're partly offended by his statement and you want to ask him to clarify exactly what he thinks you are. Are you not desirable? And royalty at that? But you force down your objections and set your jaw. "Well, I am pleased to hear there will be no misunderstandings."

Sam picks up his mug and reaches over the table, clinking it into yours. "Now drink so that you don't freeze to death."

Taking a small sip, you look to the nest of fur on the floor by the fire where you woke up. "Won't I be alright by the fire?"

"The fire dies down in the night. Besides, you sleep in my bed tonight, I'll stay down here."

"I'm fine on the ground."

"Your body is covered in bruises, the ground is only going to make it worse. I only had you out here because I had to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn't die in the night. You'll sleep in the bed, I won't have a woman sleeping on my floor like a stray dog."

Sitting in silence you fill your belly with stew and allow yourself two glasses of his questionable wine before excusing yourself for the remained of the evening.

As you climb the ladder to the small loft at the back of the cottage you're glad you didn't protest. The entire platform is a giant soft bed lined with layers of wolf pelts. You stretch out in the soft nest closing your eyes and running your fingers through the silky fur. After weeks of sleeping on the ground this is a welcomed indulgence. You turn onto your side as Sam's smell washes over you. While your rational mind doesn't desire him, his Alpha scent is undeniably consoling. The Omega in you purrs at the comfort of his smell enveloping you as sleep sinks in fast and deep.

You sleep hard, better than you have in ages. When you do awake it's to sunlight streaming through the small window above the loft. You roll to your side slowly coming back to reality. Stretching your arm above your head you forget where you are as the warm and comfort of the soft bedding cradle.

It's a combination of Sam's scent and your sore body that wakes you up. Opening your eyes, you lie still, listening to the silence and the distance chirping of birds. If given the option, you'd sleep for days, curled up in this secret refuge but you need to get your bearings and attempt to formulate a plan.

You allow yourself a few more minutes of leisure, rubbing the side of your face into the fur and drawing in a deep breath of the Alpha scent. It's been an agonizingly long time since you've shared a bed with a man and woke up to his aroma…and even then it was not an Alpha. You'd be ashamed if anyone knew you were rolling around like a happy kitten in the bed of a man you hardly know, but as long as it's your secret you'll allow the indulgence.

Clad only in the woodman's enormous shirt you descend the short ladder to find the dim cottage still and tranquil in the morning light. The fire is nothing more than embers and the makeshift bed where he slept the night before has been folded into a neat pile stacked beside the hearth. On the table there's a mug of milk and a bowl with two boiled eggs. You take an egg, feeling the weight before rolling in on the table and carefully peeling the shell. You sip the fresh milk as the morning chill leaves goosebumps up and down your legs.

You're not sure you've ever eaten in complete solitude. Even when a meal was brought to your chambers you ate while maids prepared to clean and dress you. There was always someone nearby waiting to fulfill your next request. Finishing your breakfast in solitude you pick up a cloak laid over his chair and wrap it around you.

Sam is nowhere to be found, a fact for which you're thankful. Last night left you feeling like a newborn fawn, confused and weak, trying to stand for the first time. Taking advantage of his absence you explore the small cottage. While it's certainly of humble means, everything is in order, herbs placed with care above the fire and tools lined along the wall.

Above the stone mantle of the hearth there's a mighty sword affixed to the wall. It looks to be heavy and old, uncleaned from it's last use which was no doubt long ago. You wonder if it belongs to Sam, if in a former life he was an infantry man or perhaps the weapon has deeper meaning.

Much to your surprise you find a narrow bookshelf hidden away in the corner, it's shelves lined with many titles you recognize. It's nothing compared to the grand library where you completed your studies as young girl, but it's certainly more than you expected to find tucked away in the shadows of a Scottish cottage.

You jump as the heavy wooden door groans open and Sam ducks under the doorframe. He sets a satchel on the table, it's contents clanking together. It takes him a moment to spot you and when he does you detect a subtle look of displeasure across his masculine features.

"You found the food I left for you?"

"I did, thank you." You smile, determined to be more charitable than you were last night. Perhaps you've gotten off on the wrong foot. For an unattached Alpha of a certain age he seems to have a remarkable lack of interest in you, which is fortunate but surprising. You're not exactly as young as you once were, but you're a Princess after all and there have been many songs written about your beauty. It's an allure that seems lost of the man in front of you. "I was just taking a look." You gesture to his bookcase.

"You're welcome to borrow any of them."

"Thank you but I doubt I will have the time to invest. I don't plan on staying long." You chatter, unsure of exactly why you're nervous. "And that's not a testament to your hospitality. You have been more than generous with me and once I have established myself I will be sure you're compensated in full."

"Repayment is not necessary," Sam wipes his hands on his trousers and comes to stand beside you. Feeling the need to shift his focus your finger trails over the leather spine of a thick volume of Chaucer.

"And you are able to read?" The questions falls carelessly out of your mouth. The delicate wrinkles around Sam's eyes crinkle.

"Quite well, actually." He nods stiffly.

You've insulted him and the realization makes you feel ashamed at your assumption. You've always fancied yourself a better person than your brothers, who often compare the commoners to livestock. If there's one thing your father instilled in you it's the importance of refined social manners, no matter the station of person before you.

You square off your shoulders, holding you head high. "When I hit my head it must have knocked my manners right out of me. What I meant to say was, as a man who spends his days in the wood, working with his hands…I'm surprised to find that you have the occasion to read. Perhaps what I should have asked is: how is that you read so well?"

You seem very proud of the way you've reworded your insult. Sam would be irked if he wasn't partially entertained. You've spent your life surrounded by dandies and handmaids, he doubts anyone's ever corrected you before.

"When I was a boy my mother worked for a Lord in the south country. When their son's tutor came my brother and I were permitted to observe the lessons. They had a vast collection of books stacked floor to ceiling and I read whatever I could get my hands on."

You smile, imaging this tall brute of man as a tiny boy with a novel in his hand. "And now you have your own collection."

"A meager one, yes." Sam turns toward you, "this may surprise you Princess, but it's difficult to get one's hand on literature out here in the countryside."

"It does not surprise me," you seems to miss his sarcasm and it entertains him all the more. "And you should not call me Princess."

"There is no one here to overhear us. I will refrain if we suddenly have an audience."

"Still," you continue. "You've made some very fine selections. I love Chaucer." Sam watches as you take the books from the shelf and look over the worn bindings.

"I haven't read it in years," he comments.

"Time and tide wait for no man." you recite and then look to him. "It's a quote."

"Thank you for clarifying." Sam narrows his eyes and smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, "I believe he also said _Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed._ "

Your mouth falls open at his forward statement and a wide smile spreads his face. You blush and Sam grunts.

"I'm not sure this is an appropriate conversation."

"You slept in my bed last night, we've moved past royal piety." He takes the book from you and sets it back on the shelf, the apples of your cheeks glowing red. "If your plan is to fit in among us common folk, you'd better get used to a crude word from time to time. You can't walk around with that look on your face."

"What look?" You snip.

"You wouldn't like my description." He turns, picking up the sack off the table. "I've brought you clothes. You can dress, then we can discuss where we go from here."


	2. Part Two

There's a chill in the air as you begin the trek into the village. Sam's pace is nearly twice yours and you scramble to keep up with him. The sun is rising just above the rolling hills and you can discern the silhouette of structures in the distance.

In the light of day you have the chance to examine him. There's no denying he's handsome, with a strong jaw and features that are quite pleasant to look upon. With his good looks and board shoulders you wonder how it is that an Alpha of his composition hasn't claimed some young peasant girl. Surely there must be many young women that would be willing to overlook his gruff disposition for a woodsman who's able to provide a house and home, and literate to boot!

"Try to keep up." He glances down at you, pursing his lips.

His plan was to ride into town, making the trip quick and easy, but your injuries and aching hips couldn't handle it. He had you on the back of his horse, trotting along, before you had to tap his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

"Where are we going?" You inquire, scampering up beside him.

"To the village, to speak with Martha. If there's any news she'll know about."

"Thank you for the cloak." Pulling the material tight you trot to keep up, already short of breath. "It's warm, even if it is a bit dusty and rather old."

"It belonged to my mother, it hasn't been worn in years." He quips, looking forward with stealy intention.

"I imagine she's upgraded to an attire that is a bit less threadbare." You laugh.

"She's dead." His breath puffs hot into the cold air.

"Oh." _Oh no, not again._ " I'm sorry, I didn't intend to sound ungrateful."

"It's been nearly ten years." He shrugs.

"Samuel, may I asked you something?" You just can't help yourself.

"If I say no, will you refrain?

"Most likely not," you nearly trip over a root but sidestep just in time. "Why is that a man, an Alpha, of your age hasn't taken a mate?"

Sam slows down, starting to turn toward you, but thinks better of it and picks up his pace. "I've yet to find a women I enjoy the company of for more than a night. If we're asking such personal questions, don't you think you're a little old to be a princess?"

"Well," you gasp indignantly, "There is no age limitation on my title."

"I thought princesses were supposed to be young and nubile." His words are playful but there's an underlying poke to your pride.

"I am not that old, and while I may not be a blushing young maiden there's certainly never been a shortage of men eager to be at my side."

"I can only imagine the virile quality of gentlemen that a women such as yourself attracts. The fanciest squires in all the land." He's making fun, but you're determined to show him a thick skin.

"I'll have you know I was married, for many years, to a very fine man." You confess.

Sam turns to you, his eyes darting to your neck as they narrow. "If you were married, how is that you're unclaimed?"

"He was a Beta, but we had many wonderful years of-"

"A Beta?" Sam laughs, big and wide, with amusement the likes of which you've never seen before. "An Omega married to a Beta! I've never heard of such a thing…no wonder you're so uptight."

"I beg your pardon," you blush at his implication, but keep your chin high. "I am not uptight."

"You're wound tighter than a nun on her wedding night." He's still amused but you're done with the conversation.

"I think I'll walk a little behind you and enjoy the silence for the rest of our trip." Slowing down you fall behind, staring daggers into the back of his head.

"I would love that." Sam just raises a hand to waive you off, "just be sure to stay within sight."

-.-

Before your walk to town you impressed upon Sam the importance of keeping the ordeal between yourselves. When he asked why you surreptitiously changed the subject to his dairy cow and her value if brought to market. While you're not entirely convinced he won't broach the topic again later, you trust that he'll honor your request.

He leads the way along the busy path, winding through sparse cottages that pepper the roadside. The buildings become closer and closer together as you approach the beating heart of the small town. The village center bustles with life, men hauling their wares and mothers dragging stubborn children. It's the sort of scene you know to be a normal part of life for most people, but you're suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. It's an itch in the back of your brain that you're not able to scratch, and the lack of relief only exacerbates the feeling.

Up until this point you've lived a cushioned existence. It's not just having servants that tended to your every need, but the comfort of ultimate security. When inside the castle you were assigned a single knight by the name of Godfrey who stood outside your chambers while you slept and escorted you to parties. When you ventured out into the city you found yourself flanked by any number of bodyguards who provided the illusion of independence, but they were ready to step in at a moments notice should any man, woman or child come too close or speak too loud. Even when you fled France you felt, perhaps falsely, a sense of security while accompanied by Peter and Luther, men who you naively believed would protect you at their own peril.

Now you're really out in the world for the first time, with no security detail to ensure safe passage. Sam, this grump of a giant, is your only lifeline, and you can't be sure of his allegiance. You can't be sure of anything anymore. If the men you paid to bring you to Scotland turned on your after such a generous sum, what's to keep this man from doing the same?

"Is there something wrong?" Sam asks, his hand briefly on your arm, pulling you from your thoughts. He's not known you long but you're clearly fixated on some distressing thought, frozen in the middle of the busy thoroughfare.

"I am fine." You blink, staring blankly.

A man tumbles out of the tavern, whooping and hollering with a jug of mead sloshing in his hand. It would be comical if you weren't so on edge.

"What do we have here?" The drunk hones in on you, stepping forward and listing to one side as if he were on the deck of a ship keeling on the open seas. He sniffs the air obscenely, his mouth hanging open as his head tilts from side to side. "I can smell your cunt from here. Delicious little bitch, aren't you."

Heat rises from your belly to your cheeks, fanning a flame of embarrassment and utter shock. No man in all your years had ever said anything so vulgar or disgusting. He steps even closer, and you back up in turn. "I beg your pardon, _sir_."

He bobs his head when you call him sir, smelling the air again. "I bet you'd taste like-"

"Enough," Sam intervenes. You feel him behind you, one hand on your lower back and the other at your hip, guiding you away from him. "You're drunk Aldis. Stop heckling women and go home to your wife."

"Sam," his face lights up when he recognizes your escort, a smile pulling from ear to ear. You're immediately forgotten as he careens forward, slapping Sam on the shoulder and chuckling. "Are you taller than the last time I saw you?"

"Only if you squint," Sam laughs, lighthearted and sweet. If you hadn't seen it yourself you never would have imagined such a happy expression would sit so well on his features, but it does. "Have you seen Martha?"

"Not today," he shrugs. His eyes dart from Sam to you, and a grimace forms on his mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was yours. I would never have…"

"It's alright," Sam nods, disregarding the implications of this man's statement. "Get yourself home."

Taking you by the arm, Sam pulls you down the adjacent road. You scuttle beside him before wrenching yourself from his grasp. "That man was…" you sputter, searching for an accurate word to encompass how offended you are, "indecent!"

"That man is a fool who forgets his own name after enough libation."

"He could have…what if he had tried to…" You're not entirely sure what's upset you this much. Yes, he was offensive, his words lewd and crude. But you find yourself shaken, truly upended by the fact that he felt so entitled to speak to you in such a way, and by Sam's indifference to it. Your ears go hot, chest tight with a tidal wave of swelling emotion. _Don't you dare cry._

Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he examines your expression, your eyes are watery and cheeks red with distress. Perhaps your reaction is genuine, and not the production he assumed it to be.

His face softens and he steps close to you, looking down as you look up. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment. Maybe Sam will turn on you, just as everyone else has, but perhaps he means what he says, it certainly seems like he does. His eyes are fixed on yours, his surprisingly pleasing eyes, that don't shift away from you no matter how long you hold his stare. Taking a breath you smooth your skirt and lift your chin,. "I was not scared, just taken of guard."

"My mistake." Sam nods.

-.-

Martha is a bright, bubbly whirlwind of a woman who's nearly as round as she is tall. When she opens the door she giggles in delight as Sam stoops down to embrace her, fussing over him like a proud mother, cupping his face in her hands and placing a kiss at his cheek.

"Come in, come in," she beams stepping aside, welcoming the two of you into her home. "Are you hungry? Of course you are, I'll come up with something."

"Don't go to the trouble," Sam catches her by the arm. It's interesting to watch him interact on this level, he's almost docile in her presence. "We're fine."

"Let me at least warm some water," she taps him on the chest.

"Please, just sit." He insists, motioning for you both to take a seat at her small table.

For the first time her eyes flicker to you, looking you from top to bottom. "The last I saw you, Dean had you over his shoulder like sack of potatoes. I wouldn't even recognize you as the same person." She pats your hand and turns to Sam. "You brought her back to life."

"I did what I could." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable being the center of discussion.

"She's beautiful too." Martha winks at you.

"She knows it." He comments, deadpan. You glare.

"I'm very grateful." You let his comment slide. "Samuel has been incredibly kind to me."

"Oh, I bet he has, a woman like you…" She chatters and Sam clears his throat.

"We came to find out if you've heard any news of the bandits, or anything else of interest." He inquires.

"Nary a peep about anyone involved in the attack. I suspect the bastards are long gone by now. But she's the talk of the village, this one. Your brother had a few too many drinks and told anyone who would listen about the Omega he found in the forest."

"Excuse me," you feel ill. "Are you implying that everyone is aware of…that I'm…"

"She's worried about her reputation." Sam interjects.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with it sweetheart. Alpha and Omega is the most natural pairing in the world."

"Oh my goodness," You wring your hands together, you may just wilt to the floor. "Why would people just assume something so…so… lurid?"

"Well," Martha just stares at you as if you're a strange creature of some sort, unable to understand your apprehension. She leans toward Sam, whistling before she adds "she's a bit of a prude isn't she?"

"You've no idea." Sam responds.

You'd like to kill them.

"Look here, both of you," you protest, "I do not think that it's prudish to be concerned about the commonly held opinion of one's character. I happen to believe that the reputation of a women is a reflection of her moral and social standing. I have no intention of being talked about as if I'm a common trollop."

You're so mad you could spit. How could anyone be so settled with the idea of you, an unclaimed, presumably unmarried, Omega, taking up with an Alpha you hardly know. You can just imagine Aldis, the town drunk, picturing you in heat and begging for Sam's - No, you won't even dignify the idea. All this is enough to make your blood boil.

"Calm down, Princess." Sam retorts, "Your face is turning red."

"Princess?" Martha looks up, her eyes widening. Damn him, you told him to watch his tongue.

"She likes it when I call her that." Sam doesn't skip a beat at his slip up, staring you dead on.

Several different waves of realization fall over Martha's face, understanding his insinuation before you do. Lifting her eyebrows she smirks. "Pet names already, then?"

"No-" Your attempt to control the situation slips completely

"You should hear what she calls me."

"Oh my!" Martha chuckles, clasping her hands together in delight.

-.-

You're tucked into bed, sleeping soundly when a terrifying howl pierces the night. Bolting up out of a dead sleep you clutch the blanket, listening in the dark. There's a high pitched squeal from the direction of the barn and then all the animals seen to wake up, a cacophony of screams rising from the shadows.

"Sam?" you call out.

"They're in the barn," He answers from below. You hear rustling as you look down from the loft.

"What's in the barn?" You descend the ladder as he pulls a shirt over his head, the muscles of his back flexing in the dim light of the hearth.

"The wolves," he glances at you clad in a thin nightgown, his gaze lingering just a breath too long before reaching for his axe.

" _Wolves._ " You repeat, eyes the size of saucers. You've been lucky throughout your travels not to have dealt with such terrifying creatures, but the very notion of the beasts scares you half to death. Your father told you tales as a girl of wolves that sharpened their teeth before hunting, primal violent creatures that could turn one to stone with a stare and could hypnotize young, vulnerable women before devouring them whole. While you know these stories are not grounded in reality, there is still a sickening fear in your throat at the mention of such a monster.

Suddenly that fear is shifted to Sam as he pulls his boots on, tossing hair out of his face. The mere notion of some gory, fanged fate sours the terror into something all too real. This isn't a cautionary tale, this is raw and dangerous.

You step toward him, intending to tell him to be careful, to guard himself the best he can. You mean to offer your services if needed, not that you have any real skills, but you'd head out into the black beside him if he told you it would help. But instead your mouth opens and closes without any sound escaping.

Sam stalks toward the door, turning to you as an afterthought. Your face is ashen, mouth agape as if you're trying to force out muted words. Flexing the axe, he starts toward you but thinks better of it. "Stay here, shut the door behind me."

"Samuel" you start, unreasonably breathless, hands shaking as they reach forward.

"I'll return." He nods.

Scampering to the door, you shut it with a resounding thud, pushing your whole body, back first, against the wood. You hold your breath, listening intently but only hearing your own heart thumping at a stallion's pace in your chest.

There's a horrid squawking. You're not certain, but if you had to venture a guess you'd say it was the chickens. It's followed by a snarl and then a distinctly human yelp. Sam. It's his voice howling in pain, then deafening silence.

Your body springs into action without a second thought, grabbing a lantern from the table and moving to the fire to light it. As soon as the flame sparks to life your feet are moving, racing into the night.

You whip back to secure the door. By the time you turn around the first of them emerges out of the shadows, its body hunkered low to the ground. You want to run, want to sprint back inside but your limbs are frozen, lantern held out in front of you like a statuesque tribute to some bygone explorer. The wolf takes a step forward, its paw silent as it moves with such stealth that it would be beautiful, if it weren't so deadly. The animal's lips pull back, muzzle opening to reveal yellowing teeth far larger than any domestic dog you've ever seen.

Then, like a waking nightmare two more wolves appear, seemingly out of thin air, each flanking the first. In the half-light they could easily be dogs, but dogs don't move the way wolves do, in choreographed motions, as if controlled by one brain. You suppose they are, in a way, controlled by their alpha, as if reading his mind before making the next move. This stake out must be the closest a non-human gets to playing chess, each movement thought out carefully in anticipation of what the other will do.

Of all the scenarios that you've imagined, dying by wolf attack in Scotland was never how you pictured it, yet you find yourself moments away from certain death. You want to close your eyes, but you find they're just as imbole as the rest of you, watching in sheer horror as the three predators surround you with bone chilling precision.

You take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable attack, but instead two hands curl around your waist as your feet leave the earth. Sam snatches you off the ground and the wolves growl as the door to the cottage slams shut and he drops you like a bail of hay. You land on your rear, barking in pain when your tailbone hits the dirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shouts. "Do you not have a lick of sense?"

"I was just, just" the tears come fast, and this time there's no stopping them.

"You just what?" Sam doesn't ease up. His nostrils flare as he stoops down, grasping your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him. There's blood dripping from his arm onto your nightgown, thick red drops soaking through to skin. "Are you determined to get us both killed? What were you doing out there?"

Sputtering like an idiot you heave, wiping at your cheeks before yanking your jaw from his grasp. "I heard you call out, I thought you'd been hurt and I…I was trying…"

"To save me?" He finishes your statement, his voice softening, as does his face. He lets out a exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "You came to save me from a pack of wolves in a nightdress, and armed with nothing but a lantern?"

"I didn't stop to think, I am sorry." You look to him, expecting a further reprimand but he just stares at you. Sam's not sure if he wants to slap some sense into you or take you in his arms and hold you tight. What a ridiculous woman you are, nothing but careless action and unrestrained impulses. For a fleeting moment you seem to calm down, but then your small shoulders start shaking, whole body trembling as fat, wide tears start falling from your eyes. "I thought they were going to tear me apart." The confession only makes you cry harder.

"Don't be upset," Sam places a hand at your shoulder, patting stiffly. "Come on now, we're both going to live."

Once you manage to compose yourself he lets you dress his wound. It's clear you've no idea what you're doing, but want desperately to be useful. The wolf he killed in the chicken coup bit him deep before he was able to put it down. He walks you through the steps, explaining how to clean the wound, then wrap him with a clean bandage. You wrap the cloth around his arm loosely, he'll have to do it himself once you go back to sleep, but he doesn't correct you. Instead, he allows you to apply possibly the worst dressing he's ever seen.

"Is that acceptable?" You ask politely.

Sam stifles a smirk, clearing his throat. "Perfect."

"Good," you smile, touching his fingers lightly before sitting back in your chair and running both hands down your face. "I don't think I've ever been that scared before. I feel exhausted."

"You were overtaken by thieves in the woods, you lived through worse than a few stray dogs." Sam's mind wanders as a tendril of hair curls around you face. Questionable temperament aside, he can't deny you're beautiful, almost bewitching in the dying light of the fire. You're a rare creature. An Omega, especially one that looks like you, belongs in a castle. Life tucked you away into the appropriate corner of the world. Had you grown up among the plebs an Alpha would have claimed you, by marriage or force, at a young age. Perhaps he's been too hard on you, you're not meant for this world.

"Thieves are men, wolves are something else altogether." You puff. His hand is on the table, outstretched where you were tending to him. Absentmindedly, you take his hand between both of your own, the way your mother did for you when you were ill. Sam's breath hitches as you turn it over, your two small hands cradling his larger one, thumbs running up the center of his palm. "Have you ever heard the story of the Beast of Gévaudan?"

"No, I haven't." He gulps when your fingers rub into his skin, massaging pressure points that seem to make every inch him relax.

"There is a region in the south of France, Gévaudan, where it's been killing for years. Some say it's a wolf, others a man. Once in a while you speak to someone who thinks it's both, a supernatural being with deadly desire." You press down hard with both thumbs, apply pressure as his fingers curl around your slender wrist. "My father would tell stories of the beast coming to devour young women and children. He took a personal interest, sending experts to investigate. They all had wild theories, but one thing was for sure, La Bête exists, it's not a myth. I think is there is nothing more terrifying than the idea of the beast being a simple wolf, a blood hungry animal that has a taste for killing and craves more. I would lay awake at night imagining two orange eyes glowing in the dark, waiting for me to round a corner…"

 _What are you doing?_ You're stroking his hands like some kind of harlot, if only Martha could see you now. Have you lost your mind? You pull away as if he's burned you.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, awaking from a daze.

"I'm babbling, and very tired. We should both try to sleep, the sun will be up soon."

 **Two Weeks Later**

The two of you walk in silence through the village. The avenue is lined with baskets containing apples and loaves of bread. Across the way the butcher displays his bloody lumps of meat, naked chickens hanging from rafters.

Sam's been in what can only be described as a ghastly mood since last night. It seems, despite your best efforts, nothing you do is satisfactory. You offered to clean the cooking pots only to have him scrubbing them himself as soon as you were done. Then, after a rather involved argument about your inability to pick up after yourself, you managed to ruin one of shirts, staining it with juice of the red berries he'd told you not to touch. It's not that you're specifically trying to antagonize him, but there's something about the way he orders you around that makes you want to usurp him like a petulant child.

A young boy approaches, runs up and stops short of colliding with Sam's legs. "There's someone looking for you!" He exclaims, out of breath and tugging on Sam's hand.

"Who's looking for me, Michael ?" Sam inquires, mussing the child's hair with his fingers.

"He's a knight, a real one, Sam!" He shouts with delight.

Your heart drops out the bottom of your stomach.

"Why would a knight be asking about me?" Sam's eyes slide to the side, landing on you.

"I don't know. He was asking if you had an Omega. Tom the builder told him you did." Michael shrugs.

"Anything else?"

"No," the child shakes his head emphatically. "But he's headed this way."

"Get out of here." Sam grabs you by the arm and pulls behind one of the stalls "Tell me, and be honest, is this knight looking for you?"

"Samuel," you exhale as your voice cracks. Sam can feel you shaking, vibrating with fear as you look at him with wide eyes. Whatever you're running from, you're terrified. He softens his approach placing a hand on each shoulder.

"Just tell me, we might not have much time. What happens if he finds you?"

"He'll kill us both." You utter.

Not only have you been on the run but you've been keeping house with Sam. It won't matter that nothing happened, no one will believe that he hasn't been between your legs. You've been so stupid trying to keep up appearances that you hadn't thought of the consequences for Sam if you're found. You're an unclaimed Omega who was given an order by her king, and instead chose to flee. You've been living with an Alpha. A common street whore would be shown more mercy.

"Listen to me," he shakes you out of your internal monologue. "For once you need to do as I say."

He takes you by the hand and drags you down the street to the small booth where Edmund and his wife, Ingrid, are selling their pelts. Edmund starts greets you, but Sam stops him cold.

"I need your help."

"Of course." Edmund nods, "What can we-"

"I need Ingrid." Sam explains, shoving you toward Edmund. "And I need you to hide her. Do it now."

"What are you playing at?" Edmund hestistates.

"You owe me. Your children would have starved to death if I hadn't brought you meat last winter. I've never asked for anything in return until now. We have to hurry."

"Alright," Edmund affirms, placing a hand a your back and ushering you toward their booth. There's a large basket on the ground and he pats the edge, "get in."

You look to Sam for a sliver of comfort but he's got Ingrid by the arm, whispering something in her ear. You lay down in the basket, pulling your knees to your chest as Edmund covers you with furs, one on top of the next until you're buried.

"Be still," Edmund instructs.

You can see through the weaving of the basket, and suck in a pregnant breath as the knight comes into view. You recognize him instantly, your handmaidens called him "The Wall". He's half a foot taller than Sam and twice as wide. You knew someone might come looking for you, but you didn't imagine it would be him. He would know you on sight as he had on many occasions been your personal guard.

"You," The Wall calls out, his voice so deep you swear the earth shakes with his words. "Are you Samuel the woodsman?"

"What if I am?" Sam retorts standing his ground. He takes Ingrid by the hand and pulls her behind him.

"You'd be smart to answer me. I'm a knight of the inner council to King William of France."

"I am the person you're looking for." Sam confirms.

"I'm told that you found a woman in the woods before the spring. An Omega that you kept for yourself."

"What business is that of yours?"

"One of the King's personal maids absconded with valuables that belonged to the crown. I am not looking to retrieve the jewels, just the handmaid."

"I did come across an Omega, but she's not the one you're looking for."

"I need to be the judge of that. Is this her?" The Wall tried to step around Sam to get a good look at Ingrid.

"I told you already, she's not the woman you're looking for."

"I can't leave until I'm sure. You can appreciate that your word means nothing to me."

Sam is still for a moment and then pulls Ingrid from behind his back. She looks to the larger man in front of her, cowering in fear before burying her head in Sam's chest.

It's brilliant.

If he's going off nothing more than a description of a woman who was discovered in the wood, the two of your are close enough in looks that the details are interchangeable. You're the same same height and weight, same hair color and features. And while anyone would agree that your beauty dwarfs hers, she's not unpleasing to the eyes.

"What is your name girl?" He asks, tipping his head to inspect her.

"Y/N." Ingrid squeeks.

"And you're the one who was injured?"

"I was," she sutters. "My father and brother were killed by thieves. I almost perished myself."

"Satisfied?" Sam questions, stepping in front of Ingrid.

The Wall takes in a deep breath, his cheeks hollowing as it releases. He chuckles goodnaturaly and pats Sam in the shoulder. "Yes, woodsman. France appreciate your cooperation."

–

Sam drags you home in formidable combination of silence and utter rage. He doesn't speak until you've reached the yard of his cottage, "Are you even who you say your are? Or are you a servant and a thief?"

"I am! William would never want people to know I've run from him." You try to explain. "I wouldn't lie-"

"How would I know that?" Sam shouts, pounding his fist against the side of the barn. You jump at the outburst, suddenly unsure of his composure, you don't think he would ever hurt you, but you've been wrong before.

"I swear to you, Samuel. I know I've put you in such a horrible position but I have always been honest."

You seem earnest in your plea, desperate for him to believe you, and to his own surprise finds that he wants to, but he needs more. "It's time you tell me what you were running from."

"I do not want to." You hang your head, pressing your palms together.

"Why?"

"I'm ashamed." You feel the tears threatening to spill, but you swallow the emotion.

Are you a child? Have you always cried this much, been so emotional? You're no better than your three year old nephew who pitches his small body to the ground everytime the wind blows the wrong direction. You won't let anyone have the satisfaction of seeing you broken, especially him.

"Too bad." Sam presses. "I want to know what I've gotten myself into. I need to know if someone else is going to come looking for you. I can't protect either of us if you don't tell me the truth."


	3. Part Three

Despite his animosity toward you Sam is a better man than any you've ever come across before. You believe his words, you trust with all your heart that he would protect you if the situation arose.

He deserves the truth.

"My father, King Henry, died last year." You look down to your lap, wringing your hands together.

"We heard news of his passing." Sam confirms softly, watching intently as your facade drops and is replaced by real, raw emotion that spreads from your eyes to your mouth. This is the authentic you, without the dressings of pomp and circumstance, the you he knew was in there if only he would get it, and Sam recognizes it when he sees it.

"As the line of succession dictates my oldest brother, William, assumed the throne." You continue.

"The one they call the _Mad King_?" Sam's eyes narrow. Perhaps beyond reason he's looking for an excuse to believe in you. "Did he not treat you well?"

You take a pregnant breath, tipping your head back. _Just get it over with._ "When we were children William and I were close, very close. It's a bond that only grew as we aged. Perhaps he was always a bit of a dandy but I loved him for it. The two of us had an appreciation for the finer things our life affords; the cuisine and modern fashions. Certainly more than any of my other siblings."

Sam is silent, his arm crossed over his chest.

"It was around the time my father fell ill that I noticed a change in his behavior. I found William talking to himself in his bedchambers one afternoon, but his symptoms would come and go. I should have told my father before he died, perhaps he could have done something, ensured my brother Daniel assumed the throne instead...but I said nothing. I feared embarrassing William in front of our parents, they already thought him weak and I didn't want to exacerbate the situation."

"I wouldn't know until much later what was happening to him, and by then it was too late. You have to understand Sam, I always knew that William had a proclivity for...men. I found him in the stables with a serf when I was twelve and it'd been our secret. He'd had a lover for many years, an older man named Anton who slowly went insane. As fate would have it Anton passed away just before my father. I thought maybe it was William's grief rearing it's hard after losing the person he cared for most, but not permitted to openly grieve. Then our father went...he and Anton died within a week, so close together. It wasn't until after William's coronation that I saw the rash on his hands, then the ulcers."

"Syphilis?" Sam asks calmly.

"Yes," you nod. "His behaviour became increasingly erratic, he started to have these delusions of paranoia. He came to believe that there was a secret society of people trying to infiltrate our family, assassins who would stop at nothing to see us all dead. When it was time for him marry and declare a queen he refused every woman in the kingdom. He said he couldn't trust anyone outside of the family. So he chose our sister Elizabeth. He married our sister and then he ordered me to do the same...to marry our brother, Philip. I pleaded with him but he would hear none of it."

Sam's heart drops. He's pictured you as a spoiled woman running away from a privileged life, perhaps an arranged marriage but nothing like this.

"When I refused William saw me a conspirator. I no longer had free will, I was given an order from the King on pain of death. I'd be expected to consummate a marriage with…" You stop swallowing tears. "I would not lie with my brother, so I had no other choice but to leave or be killed."

"You should have told me," Sam runs a hand over his face. "We could have taken precautions. I certainly wouldn't have paraded you around the village."

"I think, perhaps, I am still trying to protect William. And I'm scared and desperate and utterly humiliated. And now I am alone." You feel sick, as if the contents of your stomach might find themselves on the ground in front of you.

"No," Snapping to attention, Sam grabs your shoulder, turning you toward him. "You're not alone."

There's a soft affection in his eyes that you haven't noticed before. His face is close to yours and you wonder how you've failed to appreciate how handsome he is.

"I should have moved on as soon as I was healthy enough to travel. I've brought this trouble upon you and you asked for none of it. If I'm honest, I'd say that I don't know what to do. When the thieves killed my companions they took everything from me, I've nothing left and nowhere to go."

"You don't have to go anywhere." Sam rubs his hands together. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

"If I stay it will make you a compatriot." You protest.

"Let that be my concern." His brow narrows like a father prying truth for a child. "Have you told me everything?"

"Yes."

"Then you're welcome here. However," He stands up, looking out at the fields and he shoves his hands into his pockets. "You'll have to tell me when your heat comes. I'll need warning."

"That won't be an issue…" You close your eyes at the humiliation of having to explain yourself. "I know you think very little of my husband and the kind of man he was. That the thought of him is amusing to you but I loved him very much. He was a good man and when he died a part of me did too. Something happened to me, I don't know what but I don't...I haven't had a heat in years."

You expect some sliver of a witty repartee, at least a snide comment about Omegas and your lack of any useful skill, but he doesn't comment.

Sam simply nods and offers you his hand.

You take it, sliding your palm over his warm, rough skin. There's a tingle in your chest, something faint and low. If you weren't so broken you might have a stronger response to the touch of an Alpha, but this is...something.

The fact that Sam's brother is also an Alpha is an inescapable fact. His scent is lighter, perhaps a bit sweeter than Sam's, but not at all pleasing to the senses. Maybe he's coming off rut or perhaps his smell is always this strong, all you know is that it makes your stomach turn as the three of you sit down for supper.

"You seem on edge." Sam leans toward you, lifting his chin in your direction.

"I'm perfectly fine." You brush him off, laddleing stew in a bowl.

Dean pulls his chair closer to the table, dipping a spoon into the concoction and letting it drip back into the bowl. His eyes shift from Sam to you. "What is this?"

"Pottage," you grimace, looking at him as if he's a lunatic. What else could it possibly be? "Is there something wrong?"

You spent all afternoon cutting vegetables and adding spices, sweating over the hearth like a common scullery maid. You stink of lard and cooked meat and you most definitely don't appreciate his apprehension.

"No," Dean raises his forehead and pouts his lower lip. "It just looks bit...runny."

"I'm sure it's wonderful," Sam nods, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth. You watch expectantly as his features tense and he grunts, then starts to slowly chew. He crunches his way through a carrot that should be soft.

Dean sniffs at his helping before digging in and his reaction is far less polite. He spits it back into the bowl as you look on in horror. "I'm sorry," he raises his hands palms up. "But I can't even pretend. It tastes like a salt lick."

Sam shouts, putting his fingers to his mouth and pulling away with a small piece of bone. "I may have just cracked a tooth."

You sit back in your chair, defeated. You'd be offended if you had an ounce of energy left, but you're exhausted. It hasn't helped that Dean's scent is the only thing you can concentrate on. You can still distinguish Sam's Alpha in the mix, but it takes concentration.

The version of yourself that first arrived here would be indigent at their reactions, after all you have tried your best. But you are decidedly not the same woman so you give up pretense and burst into stomach aching laughter that makes your eyes water. Sam grins and Dean laughs along with you, until you're waving your hand in front of your face. "I told Samuel I couldn't cook to save my life, but he insisted."

"I won't make the same mistake twice." Sam smiles.

After a more appetizing dinner of bread, cured meat and too much wine, Dean finally leaves and you can breath again.

"You hardly touched your food." Sam comments.

"I don't have much of an appetite."

"Are you feeling ill?"

"I do have a bit of a weak stomach this evening. I like your brother, and his stories, very much; but he stinks. I'm glad he's taken his leave, I was ready to go to the barn for the remainder of evening."

Sam knows leaps and bounds more about the dynamics of Alphas and Omegas than you, comparatively his knowledge could fill books while you would struggle to write a sonnet. So, he knows that claimed and bonded Omegas are especially sensitive to the scent of other Alphas. His mother could never stand the smell of any Alpha other than his father, it set her on edge and made her stomach turn.

 _He stinks._

Sam chalks it up to the fact that you've been living in his house. All this time around each other is not natural and it's bound to have unintended effects.

Yes, that has to be it.

Time passes quickly as months turn into seasons. Spring turns into a warm summer that inevitably fades to Fall. If you had to account for your time you'd be hard pressed to explain where the days escape to. You and Sam find a rhythm that's tolerable, but often contentious.

It's still in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely cresting over the horizon as he hands you the list.

"It's one task, but it's important. You must get everything in the proportions listed and boil them according to the instructions. It needs to be exact. Do you understand?" Sam implores.

"Yes." stifling a yawn you place the back of a hand to your lips.

"I'll be back just after dark. Have it ready by then." Sam leans down, insisting your full attention. "Are you certain you can handle this?"

"Samuel," you pick a small bite of the bread form the loaf and pop it into your mouth. "Do you have no faith in me at all? It's a one trip to the village, I am not a child."

"That is still up for debate." He grumbles. He's been in a absolutely rancid mood for the last several days.

"I won't let you down." Dropping a sprig of pine needle into a mug of hot water you don't even look up as he leaves.

Perhaps if you hadn't gone back to bed all of this could have been avoided. What's the saying? You can take the princess out of the castle, but not the castle from the princess. You've never been an early riser and you don't see the harm in crawling back into bed for just a short while.

When you do awake it's midday and there's still plenty of time to make the walk to the herbalist. You assume this concoction he's requested is for his back, you've suspected he's been in pain for several days. Not only had his attitude soured more than normal but he's been twitchy and marginally more aggressive.

You dress, gathering a sack and his all important list, ready to begin your journey. You set up off toward the village at a brisk pace, humming to yourself when you see one of the chickens along the side of the path. The bird is farther from the house than she should be. After several failed attempts you lift her into your arms and walk her back to the coop.

When you open the door to the pen four others dart out, squawking and trotting free around the yard. The afternoon devolves quickly into early evening as you battle chickens and then, by a unfathomable twist of circumstance, the dairy cow that liberates herself from the field.

By the time the animals are secured, the sun is setting and you failed to accomplish the lone task Sam gave you.

You smell him before he's inside. You're on your knees stoking the fire when the familiar but unnervingly intense aroma comes to your attention. It's easy to place as Sam's scent, you know it well, but this is stronger than it should be.

The small door flies open with a bang, hitting the wall with enough force to shake the structure. You pop to your feet as Sam stalks inside. He's sweating, his mouth twisted in discomfort when he looks at you.

It's his rut.

How could you have not known this was coming? He's been showing signs for days and you just ignored them, blissfully unaware of his impending cycle.

"Where is it?" He grits. His eyes flutter shut, teeth sinking over his lip as he scents the air, head tilting from one side to the other. The drink he wanted was for this, a herbal suppression to keep his instincts at bay.

Horrified you step back and admit, "I didn't...a lot of things happened today and I didn't have the chance-"

"Run," he utters, his expression numbing, visibly struggling to restrain himself. Inching away from the door his eyes go wide and his lip curls. "Run, now."

"Samuel," you hesitate as the meaning of his words sink in. Panic surges from your head to your legs and you pick up your skirts and dash into the night.

You make it halfway to the stable before two great hands are around your waist, hoisting you into the air and over his shoulder. Sam plucks you off the ground like a sack of grain and stalks toward the open door of the barn.

"Put me down!" You shout, hammering your fists at his back.

And he does, he drops you unceremoniously onto the hay covered floor and pounces on top of you.

"Samuel, please don't." You hit his chest, small hands trying to push him off, but resistance is futile. His large stature affords him easy restraint as you buck under the weight of him. Your flailing legs, kicking wildly, are hampered as he wedge his hips between your thighs.

"Stop squirming," he snarls, hooking a hand under your knee to bend your leg, letting the heft of his body hold you to the ground. His hand ventures under dress, one big rough hand grabbing at the bare skin of your legs all the while pressing his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath, before dragging his nose and open mouth across the swell of your breasts.

"Please don't do this," tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

"I said stop moving." He smacks the side of your face with an open hand, strong enough to make a sickening crack. Sam's eyes are blown wide, crazed by the swell of all consuming lust. This is not the man who opened his home to you, this is someone foreign and terrifying. He reaches up, pinning both arms above your head with one hand as the other ventures between your thighs.

His fingers poke at the lips of your sex and you screw your eyes shut, turning your head to side. Without the slightest hesitation he shoves his middle and index finger inside your pussy, pushing until he's knuckle deep.

You should be wet for him. It doesn't matter that you're not a willing partner, any normal Omega should respond to his rut by making you ripe and ready, but instead he forces two long fingers into your bone dry snatch and you yelp in pain. If he fucks you like this he'll tear you open, a realization that makes you fight even harder.

"You're hurting me," you scream, a sob tearing from your throat.

"You'll slick up once I have my cock in you." He snears, reaching for his trousers.

There's a hollow popping sound as a large piece of firewood connects with Sam's head. His eyes roll back and he collapses, the weight of him knocking the air from your chest.

Dean's face is above you.

He rolls Sam's limp body off you with a grunt, looking from you to his brother. "I told him it wasn't a good idea to stay here with you. He wouldn't listen."

You scramble backward, straightening your skirt, wiping tears from your face. Sam's laid out flat on his back, his mouth open like a fish gulping for air. He makes a faint sound, a pained groan as his head falls to the side.

"Is he hurt?" On hands and knees you crawl to Sam, putting a hand on his forehead. You inspect him, running fingers through his hair until you find the growing bump at the base of his skull.

"I didn't hit him that hard." Dean leans down giving his brother a once over.

"This was my fault." You confess, smoothing hair away from his face. "If I had just done what he asked none of this would have happened."

Dean tilts his head toward you. "He never drank the tincture?"

"I didn't know what if was for, he didn't tell me...I didn't have it ready"

"I wasn't even entirely convinced it would work, especially with an Omega living in his house. You two are playing with fire. If he took you, like this…" Dean shakes his head at you with disgust. "He'd never forgive himself."

"I know," you're defeated. You sit back onto the filthy floor of the barn. "I've never seen anything like that before. He wasn't Samuel, the way he was looking at me..."

"A rut's enough to make any Alpha react like that, but he's had you around...it's not a smart situation for either of you."

"Should we take him inside?" You propose.

"You're going inside and I'm taking Sam with me. It'll pass in a couple of days."

It's almost a week before he returns.

Dean comes every morning and evening, tending to his livestock and handling a growing list of common tasks that you have no pension for. Had someone told you six months prior that you'd be living in a rickety cottage, pining away for a forrester, you'd have told them the very idea was preposterous. But you do miss Sam, more than you care to admit.

Sam returns just before dusk, the sun is hanging low over the horizon. There's a tapping on the door, Sam knocking at the door of his own home before slowly coming inside.

You stand next to the table, hands clasped in front of you, strangely formal for such a moment. You almost forgot how large he is until he's standing in the same room again, looming over you like a sad, regretful giant.

He clears his throat before addressing you. "I'm sorry, for anything I did. I can't remember much but Dean said he thinks I might have...hurt you."

"No," you reply quickly, taking a step toward him. If he doesn't remember then you're not about to make him relive it. "I will admit I was bit scared but no damage was done." You worry your tone is too upbeat, inappropriate for the setting but you're just unbearably happy to see him. "I think we both did a few things that we regret...or in my case lack thereof, but I was hoping that maybe we could forgo the apologies and unpleasantness and try to return to what we were. I don't think we need to speak of it."

"I'd like that as well," he smiles tightly.

And it's never spoken of again.

"Let's see it then." Sam holds out his hand.

You don't even want to show him. Sam never misses an opportunity to mention that your elite education has no practical application. He'd gone on and on about finding a skill, anything to make yourself useful, so you recruited Martha to help you. After talking over the options you decided candle making was a good place to start, it didn't appear difficult.

Sam slows his pace, taking the beeswax from you and examining it. He turns it upside down and rightside up as his brow furrows. "What is it?"

"You are not serious?" You're taken aback by his question. He shakes head and looks back to the mystery object. You stop in your tracks, folding your arms over your chest. "It's a candle!"

He looks skeptically from you to the candle, then back again. "This is a candle? Surely there's there some kind of mold that one puts the wax into to provide more of a shape."

"Well," you concede, "There _was_ a mold but I applied too much heat and removed it before it set correctly." Sam just stares at you, his face deadpan, and then breaks out into a full body laugh. His shoulders shake and his chest heaves, apparent delight that racks his entire body. "It's not that funny," you correct him as your goodnature fades. At least you tried, shouldn't he focus on that?

"Oh Princess, it is that funny." He's laughing so hard that a tear leaks from his eyes and he wipes from his face with his sleeve. "You can't pour wax into a mold."

"It is more complicated than it looks, Samuel, I can assure you," your indignant tones just amused him all the more and he bends over with his hands on knees.

He's told you not to touch the mighty sword that hangs above the hearth. He mentioned it only one time, commenting that it was his late father's blade and it's not to be tinkered with, but you want to do something for him. Something special.

You start the day with energized determination, for once you're going to be the one who has something to offer, a gift. It's been weeks since his return and you're ready to pitch in and help. Sam's been a more than generous host, managing to take care of your needs as well as those of his livestock and business.

When you were a girl you pictured your father as the ideal of what a man should be. He was an intellectual who spent his days meeting with advisors and surrounded himself with men much more intelligent than himself. He knew one man was simply not capable of understanding the nuances of running a kingdom, so he asked for help when he needed it. He was a kind, fair king and a balanced leader. You thought of this as work, hard work, and to some degree it was.

But the truth is Sam works harder than anyone you've ever known. He rises before dawn, tending to the cow and the horses. He feeds the pigs, spreads meal for the chickens and lugs mounds of hay from the barn to the stable. And when he's done and the sun is up he eats his breakfast, heads off to the woods where he cuts and chops and hauls lumber until the twilight hours.

You don't expect him home so soon, the sun has just set and you assume you'll have more to finish the task at hand: polishing his father's sword. You're nearly finished, wiping down the blade when he returns unexpectedly.

He's normally sullen in the evenings, tired from a long day, but tonight he comes through the door with a smile in his face. In his left hand he has a small sack filled with Bilberries, they're your favorite. His pleasant disposition fades as his eyes look from you the sword laid over the table.

"What are you doing?" The moment you see his face you know this was a mistake.

"I was just...I wanted to do something for you. You've done so much for me and…"

"Put it down." His jaw ticks and he closes his eyes for a moment. He's been mad before but this is a fury that's new, it's a quiet anger which makes it all the more terrifying.

You set the blade down on the table, smoothing the cloth in your hands before putting in on the table too. "I thought-"

"You don't think, that's the whole problem. You're so used to doing whatever you desire without any consequence that you don't stop to consider how your actions affect other people."

"I'm sorry." _Don't cry._ "The last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I just wanted to-" _Don't cry, don't let him see you cry._

"You should leave." He commands, resolute.

"Samuel-" You trying to protest, at least explain yourself but he doesn't give you the opportunity.

"It's my own fault for expecting anything else. You can't help yourself, can you? The very idea of someone below your station telling you 'no' is a challenge to do otherwise. I asked one thing of you. One. Everything else I offered happily, but you're so stubborn that you do whatever pleases you without regard for anyone but yourself. You're nothing more than an Omega without her heat. It's actually perfect." He spits. "You're a princess past her prime who can't clean or fuck. You're useless to me."

His word cut like a knife, taking the air from your chest. No one has spoken to you this way, not even your brothers in midst of some adolescent rage.

"Get your things. If you start walking now you can get to town before dark. Martha will let you stay with her." He sneers.

"Please do not do this!" You shout, balling your fists at your sides. This has gone more wrong than you could have ever envisioned, but the truth is you should have known better, How could you think that touching something that means so much to him would have pleased him? Between the chickens and the tincture you're clearly not in tune with any part of his life.

"Now." He commands coldly. His glare shifts from you to the sword as he stands with hands on his hips.

You scramble to collect what little you have and stuff it into a small sack, hesitating when you pick up the cloak before setting it back down. With shaking hands you tie the rope securing your items and head for the door. With a hand on the frame you pause, without turning back you utter "I'm sorry."

The tears start to the minute the door slams closed behind you. What a mess you've made. Sam is the only person you have left, and now you've managed to alienate him. It was only a matter of time, he's been merely tolerating you since he took you in and instead of nurturing a better relationship you've made things worse at every turn.

Anger and defeat swelling in your chest, you set a brisk pace toward the village. The cold sinks into your bones as you try to move fast, you doubt it's cold enough to freeze to death but it's enough to make the journey miserable.

You should have never come here, never left France in the first place. Your brother was ill and if you'd stayed you might have been able to reason with him, get through to his more reasonable sensibilities. He was sick after all, what kind of sister are you? Abandoning her family when they need her most?

The root catches your foot, twisting your ankle and before you have time to call out you tumble to ground. You land on your knees, with a yelp and promptly fall back onto your backside. Drawing in a sharp breath you lift up your shirt and take stock of your now bloody knees, touching one tenderly and wincing.

 _You can do this,_ you tell yourself. _Stop acting like a child, pull yourself together and stand up._

But when you try to stand your ankle gives way and you find yourself on the ground again. And you give up. A sob tears from your throat and you cry, defeated, in the dirt.

Sam watches you silently, standing only a few steps behind with his mother's cloak in his hand. You curse softly between howls, rocking back and forth. While you're certainly ridiculous he wonders if he's been harder on you than was necessary. You are, after all, alone in the world.

"What are you doing on the ground?" He asks softly. You jump at the sound of his voice, shoulders twitching in the moonlight.

"I fell." You hiccup. "You're right to send me away Samuel. I'm nothing more than a useless, selfish burden."

Sam kneels down beside you, covering you with the cloak. It's gesture that makes you cry even harder, burying your face in your hands. "Don't say that," he sighs.

"If you could just help me get to town I'll be out of your way. I know you hate me and want to be rid of me, but I'm not sure I can make it to Martha's on my own. I seem to have hurt my leg."

Sam smiles to himself in the dark, bending down and scooping you into his arms without so much as a word.

It's in this moment, when you're balling like a baby, that you admit your own feelings. You wish for nothing more than his arms around you in the night, holding you close and safe. You can imagine what it would be like to hear gentle terms of endearment whispered from his lips. When you really let yourself succumb to the fantasy it's with visions of his weight on top of you, moving inside you and making you his.

And you know it will never be. Because a man such as Sam could never care for someone of your selfish desires.


	4. Part Four

Sam can't tell what you're doing from his vantage point, just that whatever it is has had your full concentration for the past several hours. As he creeps closer he can hear your voice, light and happy, singing to yourself as your arms continue to attend to the task at hand.

He could hear you from the barn, your voice crystal clear with touch of sadness. You're drawing, fingers covered in black charcoal as you smudge the lines of a breathtaking portrait of a woman's face. You pause for a moment, tipping your head as if examining the grain of the parchment before resuming the skillful stoke.

Oblivious, your voice picks up volume, while you sketch with precise intent, completely focused.

 _Car tant vous aim, sans mentir_

 _Qu'on poroit avant tarir_

 _La haute mer_

 _Et ses ondes retenir_

 _Que me peusse alentir_

 _de vous amer._

"What are you singing?" He asks.

You yelp in surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth, heart beating like a stallion. "Samuel, you scared me half to death."

"I didn't mean to." He places his hand to his chest in apology. "I'm sorry."

"Come sit with me," you suggest. He stares blankly for a moment and then lowers himself the ground beside you, picking up the parchment delicately, holding it up by the edges.

"You're talented." He looks to you, then back to the picture. "This is… incredible."

You blush. He's never complimented you before and it takes you off guard. Grinning like a fool you put a hand to your cheek. "Thank you."

"Who is she?"

"My mother." You reach over and run a dirty finger over her face. "I have to draw her otherwise the memory fades. I'm not entirely sure if that's true likeness or if my mind fills in the foggy parts."

"She was beautiful. You look like her." He comments, setting down the parchment and reaching for the others laying on the ground in front of you.

"Don't-" you reach out to stop him but he's already thumbing through them, holding up the next.

"Where is this?" It's a detailed drawing of a garden with tall, manicured bushes and a statue of a women in the middle. She's pouring water from the vase into the pool at the base of the fountain.

"My favorite garden. There are many within the castle walls, but this is the smallest and farthest from the gates. It's secluded and quiet. I spent a lot of time there."

"And this?" Sam picks up a portrait from the bottom of the pile. It's of a man sitting on the edge of a bed, looking down at his feet. There's a pained expression on his face. It's darker than the rest, thick broad strokes instead of delicate lines.

Sam feels you tense up, sitting up a bit straighter and clasping your hands in your lap. "My husband, Mathieu."

"Ah," he nods gently, looking away from you. "Were you singing for your husband?"

"No, I was singing for…" You pause, answering him honestly, "love in general I suppose."

"What happened to him?" Sam asks quietly.

"We both fell ill at the same time. My symptoms seemed far worse. No one thought I would survive...but I did. He died the day after my fever broke. It happened fast, there was nothing that could be done."

"How long were you married?"

"Twelve years." You sigh, looking up at the sun, anywhere but at Sam. He shifts beside you, picking up the picture again, analyzing the face now that he has more information.

"You were happy with him?"

"Very," there's no veiling the smile that spreads across your face. Your memories of Mathieu are painful, but also heartwarming. "I was sixteen when my father told me I was to marry him. I didn't want a husband, or anything to do with being a wife. I knew it was inevitable, but I'd convinced myself I was meant for greater things. I cried for days, it was all very dramatic. He was older by ten years and at the time that seemed like an insurmountable difference. But he was kind and smart and so funny. He made me laugh until my sides hurt..." You stop when you feel the emotions tightening in your chest. Sam doesn't want to hear you go on and on. "It seemed just as I was planning on growing old with him, he was gone."

"You're lucky to have had so long." He draws in a breath and grinds a thumb over the callus on his palm. He looks straight ahead, staring out at the tall grass, but his mind clearly elsewhere. "I had someone once, a long time ago. I was young, not much older than you were when you married."

"You had a wife?" You clarify, studying his face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he expression sours.

"I had a mate, she was mine and I was hers. I should have married her but it seemed like we had all the time in the world. Once I claimed her it didn't seem like we needed anything more "

"She died?"

"In childbirth." Sam looks at you, his eyes staring a hole right through your very soul. "I lost my Omega and my child."

"Oh Sam, I'm sorry." You wish you had something more to say. You had never stopped to imagine his life before. It times it feels like he's always been with you.

"I'm only telling you this because I want you to know that I understand what it's like to lose someone. Now that my parents are gone I only have my brother."

"And me." You add confidently. You speak without thinking and panic for a moment, but it's not necessary as Sam just smirks softly and places a hand over yours.

"And you." He confirms.

"It would appear, Samuel, that you and I have more in common than one would suspect."

"Indeed." He smiles at you, squinting in the sunlight.

"I know that I can be a nuisance and I create more work for you, but I do appreciate everything you've done for me."

"You're never a bother. Life would be boring without you around."

You're in the village when the news comes.

Sam's beside you haggling with the butcher over a price for one of his pigs. They've been in the midst of a heated discussion for some time now and you wander absentmindedly down the row of men peddling their wares. Stopping to admire a woven skirt you don't even notice when Hugh slides up beside you. Hugh knows everything and everyone, filling the village's unofficial position of town crier.

"Good morning, Y/N." His voice is sneaky and he smells faintly of body odor.

"Good morning, Hugh." You smile, side stepping to get away from his wafting stink. He's kind and enjoys making you laugh, you just wish he bathed more often.

"I have a something for my favorite mademoiselle." He feigns a terrible French accent and fishes in his cloak to present you with a shiny red apple, holding it like a crown jewel in his palm.

"It's beautiful," you take it, examining the unblemished skin. It's not often you're able to get your hands on the sweet fruits you used to devour on a daily basis. "Thank you very much!"

"I stole it," he winks at you.

"It'll be our secret then." Grinning, you admire this treat. It's amazing how life has shifted. A year ago you'd be appalled if a foul smelling man had even tried to speak with you. But you find yourself becoming accustomed to seeking out appreciation in the smaller parts of life.

"I have news from your homeland as well." He adds, slinking around you. Hugh has never attempted to hide his attraction to you. It's all meant in good fun, so you don't mind. He's a bit bolder without Sam around, leaning closer than needed when he speaks. "Would you like to know?"

"Yeah please," you grin, feeling your heartbeat just a bit stronger. Hugh's updates have been one your only links to the life you left behind and you look forward to any new reports.

"All of France is in mourning. The Mad King has died." He continues to talk but you hear none of it. There's a pressure in your chest, a feeling akin to that of fist tight around your heart.

"When?" You interrupt him, hardly able to force a whisper.

"Weeks ago now." He shrugs oblivious to your reaction. The world closes in as your vision narrows into a tunnel of claustrophobia. Your surroundings begin to blur and you draw in a deep breath to prevent yourself from losing consciousness.

"What have you said to her?" Sam's deep voice booms from behind you. Hugh looks up, wide-eyed and takes a step away from you. You feel Sam's familiar hands curl around your arm, turning you toward him. "What is it?"

"I did nothing, I swear to you." Hugh holds up his hands in a sign of submission.

"What's wrong," his brow furrows as you turn to him, opening your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You're looking at him as if you're underwater, not really seeing what's right in front of you. A sob tears from your throat, a horrid raw sound that's accompanied by quivering lips and fat tears. Sam places both hands on your shoulders, looking to Hugh. "What the in the holy hell, did he touch you?"

"I never touched her!" Hugh panics, "I just bought her an apple." He stamers. "An apple, and news from France."

"Tell me," Sam commands. You're crying quietly, staring at the ground before pressing into his chest. He places a hand at the back of your head in an attempt to comfort you.

"The King died." He shrugs, utterly confused. "She must be a true patriot."

Sam can feel your trembling form against him, fisting his cloak in your hands as your knees give way.

"Please take me home." You mutter, trying to compose yourself. People are beginning to take notice of you.

Sam curls his arm around your side, pulling you from the busy street without another word. He helps you onto his horse, and the ride back to his cottage is a blur. The world doesn't seem to right itself until you're seated at the small, familiar table in front the fire.

"I'm sorry I made such a scene." You manage, wiping your eyes.

"You don't have anything to apologize for." Sam grunts. "He was your brother."

"He's dead." You stare at Sam with wet eyes, utterly shattered. If there's one thing he understands, it's complex emotions when it comes to family.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He kneels down before you, taking both your hands between his. No, you don't want to talk about anything, you want him to hold you, but you don't dare ask for that.

"I've talked enough for a lifetime." You sigh. You don't mean it as a joke and Sam tried to contain his amusement. "I just want to sleep."

Your slumber is long and hard, waking up to the sounds of Sam rustling around by the hearth. It's midday, and he should be hard at work in the forest, but instead you find him sitting at the table, sharpening various blades.

"Why are you here?" You ask, taking a seat across from him in your nightdress, hair still wild from sleep. Any sense of propriety you felt being around him in such a raw state faded long ago.

"I thought you might want company." He offers, his face unwavering. "No one should be alone in times like this."

You smile down at your lap. Sam is always kinder to you than you deserve and this is no different.

"Can we go for walk?" You inquire, thrilled at the prospect of spending a whole day with him, it's the only thing that seem to take the edge your grief.

"Of course." Confirming your request, he looks up, catching you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long. "Did you want go as you are or would you like to dress first?"

"So witty." You retort.

You dress, then try to eat, but your appetite is nowhere to be found. Before you know it you find yourself on the narrow path that leads to the small pond. Sam is walking a snail's pace beside you, willing himself to slow down and set the measure of your footsteps.

"I'm sorry." He offers, bending down to pick up a large stick, banging it on his leg like a bored child. "I know, despite your reasons for leaving, that he meant a great deal to you."

"Thank you." You wander on in silence, trying to focus on the slight breeze and the easy feeling of companionship when you're with him. You wish you could always be with Sam, to watch him grow old and grey, waking up beside him each morning until you're wrinkled and cranky.

"What are you going to do?" He asks, looking forward.

This is the moment of truth. You chose your words carefully, watching his expression as you speak. "I'll write to my brother, Philip. I don't know what's transpired in my absence but I dare to hope that I may be welcome home."

Sam twitches, his mouth tightening for a brief moment as he snorts. "Good. You'll be better off in France, where you belong."

You don't think it's possible for your heart to break more than it already has, but somehow the ache in your heart and head intensify. There was part of you that thought, perhaps, he would at least express a fleeting sentiment of sadness at the idea of your departure.

If you had gotten what you really wanted, Sam would have turned to you and taken you into his arms, pleading for you to stay with him. He'd take your hands in his and tell you that the very thought of living without you makes him ill, that he can't imagine his life without you. But instead he acts as if you've said nothing of consequence.

Just when you think you couldn't be any more disappointed, he adds "I'll hire a messenger for you."

For six long, agnosing weeks you live in the hell that is Sam's terrible disposition. You hardly see him, he's gone before you awaken and many times does not return until after you've gone to bed. You listen to him, drunk as a skunk and mumbling to himself, as he knocks around in a stupor before passing out. When you do have occasion to see him he barely speak to you, ignoring you in favor of a book that you know for a fact he's already read ten times over.

It appears that you have finally overstayed your welcome.

"I have good news!" You half-shout, your voice suddenly too loud as you struggle to control the sickening feeling in your stomach. He's just outside the barn, preparing his stead for the yearly hunt. Every able bodied man is about to depart into the woods in hope of securing enough meat to make it through the winter. He'll be gone at least a fortnight.

"What is it?" Sam asks distracted, tightening the saddle on his horse.

"The courier returned, he brought a letter from my sister." Sam pauses, but doesn't turn to you. "I've been invited to come home."

"Good," he grunts, continuing to attend to the mare Your heart sinks. You might vomit. He cares so little that he can't even be bothered to stop what he's doing to give you his full attention.

"It wasn't just the message that arrived...my brother sent knights to escort me home whenever I wish to depart. They're in the village."

"I'm happy for you." Sam turns to grab a rolled up blanket from behind you, nearly knocking you over. He doesn't even look at you.

"We can depart in the morning and it appears that you're leaving now, so this could be the last time we…" _Don't cry._ "Our last chance to say goodbye."

"Well then," He finally looks at you, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring. "Goodbye."

"Why are you always upset with me?" You ask, unsure of exactly what's happening. You've come to him with intention of gathering your courage and telling him what this last year has meant to you… but it's clear now that your plan was flawed. Any hope of being able to express your feelings die with his words. "I didn't do anything."

"That's nothing new."

"I don't understand you, Samuel. I was sure you'd be thrilled at my impending departure, I thought knowing I'd be out of your hair would put you in a better mood, but you're angry with me all the time now. Is it that I didn't depart soon enough? Has your tolerance for me finally reached its breaking point? I had hoped that, perhaps, we would part as friends. I can see now that was foolish."

"I don't have the words to-" Sam draws in a breath and shakes his dead, arm flailing at his sides.

"Tell me," You snip with your hands on your hips. "You have been impossible for weeks now, so just tell me what it is you have to say. Just get it off your chest. This is the last chance you'll ever have."

"You make me feel like a lunatic!" Sam cries, throwing his arms into the hair.

"The sentiment is mutual." Pursing your lips your mentally prepare yourself for the barrage of insults you're sure are to come.

"You are the most ridiculous person I have ever known. The way you talk, the way you eat those tiny little bites like a church mouse. You leave a mess everywhere you go and you don't know how to do anything! I can't even ask you to feed the horses while I'm gone because I would never expect that you would get that close to actual work."

"If I am so awful then why have you allowed me to stay with you all this time?" You inquire, stepping toward him.

"Because I love you!" Sam shouts, then recoils as if he surprised by his confession.

You heart speeds up to a gallop in your chest. Narrowing your eyes you take step closer to him, examining his features for any sign of jest. You've gotten better at deducing when he's making fun at your expense. "What did you just say?"

Sam balks, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose. "I am quite tired and very hungry. It's possible I could have said anything."

A slow smile spreads across your face, as an excited stir bubbles up from your belly. Taking a step even closer to confirm. "You love me?"

"Dear Lord," he mumbles, "against my better judgement."

"Samuel Winchester, the cantankerous woodsman who would rather skin a rabbit than help me with my corset, loves me." You bite your lip, clasping your hands dramatically. You're more happy than you've ever been in your life, but unable to control the urge to tease him just a bit more. He does deserve it after all. One doesn't tell a woman he loves her against his better judgement without there being some repercussions.

"You are impossible," Sam snears. He's always at a loss when it comes to you, feeling somewhere between the urge to fuck and strangle you.

"I am _quite_ the woman." You sigh, bobbing on one hip, not ready to let him off the hook. He's been so awful these last weeks. "With my unmatched candle making skills and a natural aptitude for the outdoors."

"I pictured this conversation going differently." Sam laughs with exasperation. "You make my blood boil."

"Surely there must be something you like about me?" You challenge him.

Sam's chest heaves with a mighty breath as he reaches out and grabs your arms, pulling you closer to him. His finger squeezes your biceps while he gazes down with an expression of affection. "You're the most infuriating woman I have ever known, but you're also the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. But, more importantly, you are brave. Brave to leave everything you know and set out in the world. Brave to save me from a pack of wolves. You are self assured and overconfident. You don't accept your own limits. You make me feel things in a way I didn't think was possible."

"Sam," you breathe. For the first time in your life you're speechless.

"And now that I have bared my heart to you, will please put me out of my misery and tell me if you feel the same." His head tilts to the side, scrutinizing your face.

"I have loved you for a long time." Your heart is ready to burst at the very idea of this strong, wonderful man making such a bold statement. "You really think I am brave?"

"Yes, more so than any person I have ever known." Sam's looking at you with stare that makes your legs weak. His hand comes up to your face, cradling your jaw as his thumb catches your bottom lip. You tilt to the side, offering your neck so he can scent you. He bends down pressing his nose into the skin right below your ear, inhaling slow and deep, a simple gesture that feels supremely intimate. The touch of his skin on yours sends a chill down your spine. When he pulls away you start to protest but open your eyes to find him offering himself to you in turn. Standing on your tiptoes you stretch up and nuzzle your face into his neck. Inhaling him while you open your mouth, pressing your parted lips against the scratch of his facial hair.

Sam groans and pulls you flush with his body, snaking a hand around your waist. When you pull your head back he cradles your face with a large, rough palm, bending down to kiss you just as the horns sound in the distance.

The hunt is beginning and they won't wait for him.

Sam stops, freezing as he closes his eyes and gathers restraint. "I have to go, if we continue this I won't have the will to stop."

"Okay." You confirm with a nod. "I will wait for you to return. At which time we can discuss more of the reasons you love me."


	5. Part Five

"Forgive me, m'lady, but it doesn't feel right to leave you here, especially alone." Leopold stands next to Ferdinand, looking at you with a skeptical eye. The two imposing knights have stayed for the better part of a week in an attempt to convince you to accompany them. You've known Leopold for years, he's not much older than you, and he was part of your father's detail for several year up until his death. He's concerned and you can't blame him really, you suspect he's only partially worried about your well being and more focused on the consequences when he returns to France sans the princess he was instructed to collect.

"One of us could stay behind to ensure you're looked after." Ferdinand offers. "King Philip will not be happy if he finds out we've left you here to live in this…" He struggles to find a term for Sam's cottage that won't be insulting

"My brother doesn't need to know the details of my lodging. Just tell him I am happy and content where I am and give him this." You thrust a letter in front of you, holding it with two hands. You've done your best to explain the your reasons for staying while purposely keeping your correspondence vague. If you were to explain that you're in love with a dirt poor forrester and still unclaimed you suspect he'd only send a second regiment to collect you, possibly by force. You simply outline that, while you initially fled with the hope of returning home, you've found yourself quite in love with a man and have made a new life for yourself in the Scottish countryside. Philip can surmise what he likes from the rest. "Have a safe journey back and bring my family all my love."

They look to each other before finally taking their leave and you watch as the link to your old life fades into the distance and the two forms disappear over the horizon.

The wait for Sam to return feels like a lifetime. You fill the days completing the day to day tasks that come easier the more you do them. You feed the chickens and milk the cow, in addition to what seems like a hundred other chose that Sam does on a daily basis. It's imaginable how hard he works, your muscle ache after just one day of hauling water and feed.

Sam is gone longer than you expected. The days turns into a week and you find that you miss him a very physical sense. You're heart aches at the thought of his confession of love. If someone would have told you a year prior that you'd be in love with a dirt poor forrester you would have dismissed the idea without a second thought. But things change, and Sam's life doesn't feel like that of peasant, or at least what you previously imagined. This existence doesn't seem lacking in any way. If anything it's the opposite, his home is rich with love and affection and hard work - the things that truly matter in the real world.

You're filling the water bucket at the edge of the stream when you feel it. It's a faint, long forgotten twitch from where deep inside, pulling just inside your belly button. It's just one lone pain and then it's gone and you don't think much of it.

That is until it returns.

You're tucked into bed, just on the edge of sleep when the dull ache springs to life. At first you convince yourself it's from the manual labor. You're not used to hauling water and feed, and it's only natural for you to be sore. But an hour later when a familiar throb beats to life between your legs you know full well what's happening.

You're in heat.

Sam's still a hundred paces from the cottage when he smells you. It's a thick, heady scent hanging in the air that makes his balls tight. There's no question it's your scent and that you're in heat. Whatever kept your Omega at bay must have resolved itself because he can practically taste your pussy from the barn.

When he opens the cottage door he's met with a rush of your delicious aroma accompanied by the faint sound of you moaning softly. The only light is a warm glow coming from the bed-loft. He only steps up two rungs before he's met with the sight of you writhing on your back, nude on the soft fur. The scene before him is sure to be the true test of his self control, because he's never seen anything as enticing as the sight of you naked and the smell of your body calling his.

You're wet, thighs glistening in the shallow light as your slender legs squirm uncontrollably. One thing is clear, you're in agony. He's not sure how long you've been like this, but enough time has passed that you long ago gave up on the idea of self pleasure and are now the throws of spine-curling pain.

"Sam," you says his name without opening your eyes. You don't need to see to sense his presence; you can smell him, feel him right down to your bones. You feel confused, unsure if he's really there or this is just a hallucination, a product of your unabated heat.

"I'm here," he rumbles, climbing on all fours onto the bed and over you.

"Alpha," you breathe, reaching out to pull him down to you. There's nothing like the sound of that word coming out of your mouth with such desperation. Sam allows you to pull him in, his mouth covering yours, his lips pressing hard into yours as your tongue curls past his lips and into his mouth. He tastes salty and wonderful as you gasp against him, balling the material of his shirt into your small fists. "This hurts."

"I know," he hushes, stroking hair away from your sodden forehead. "I'm here now."

Sam grabs your hands, pulling them above your head and holding them taught. You whine into his mouth, rolling your hips again as the slick of your wet pussy rubs against his trousers. His cock is painfully hard and he ruts forward, relieving the pressure, if only for a moment.

Sam wants nothing more than to turn you over and fuck you until you come with his thick knot inside your cunt and his teeth in your neck. Had the two you had the opportunity to clarify what you want from him he wouldn't hesitate. But this woman under him, the woman urgently humping up into his crotch like her life depends on it, isn't capable of giving him what he wants. He won't claim you, not tonight anyway.

"I need you," you mumble against his lips, tugging on your arms when they're pinned above you. "Please Sam, _please_."

"Fuck's sake," Sam groans, between kisses, your mouth and body getting more frantic by the moment. He pulls away and the cry you let out hits him right in the stomach. "Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel better."

He whips his shirts over his head, then shimmies out of his trousers so that he's just as naked as you are. On his knees he fists his bobbing cock before crawling back over you. He settles between yours thighs, letting you take the heavy weight of his body. You moan, arching up into him, pressing you chest into his, the feeling of his skin on yours sends unbelievable pleasure through both of you.

"Take me," you beg clawing at his back. Your hips stutter upward, begging to meet his as your pussy slides along his cock until the swollen head of his dick catches between your folds.

"Shhh," he hushes, pulling your arms away from his shoulder before sliding downward. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging on his scalp and he sucks one of your hard nipples into his mouth. The noise you make is otherworldly and he reaches down between your legs as his thumbs find yours clit. You're already wet, slick on your thighs and the fur beneath you, so the pad of his finger easily slides back and forth across the bundle of nerves.

"Sam," you hiss, head thrashing to the side as his touch intensifies.

His cock is trapped, pressed between the hard muscle of his stomach and your hip, grinding downward as he leaks arousal. If he had any less restraint he'd fuck his pups into your belly before you had the chance to blink.

His mouth trails down your abdomen with a scrap of his teeth as you roll your hips upward, desperate for something more and he gives it to you by sealing his mouth over your clit with a wet, desperate sound. You buck upward, crying out as one hand tugs on his hair and the other reaches out, clutching his discard shirt.

You taste salty on his tongue, slick and delicious just as he imagined you would. With every flick of his tongue under the hood of your clit you shove yourself toward him, groaning and twisting his hair in your hand until his scalp burns.

You come quickly the first time, crying out to him and legs stiffening but Sam doesn't stop. His stimulation just moves down, sliding over the lips of your pussy, before shoving his tongue into your drenched hole. Your thighs lock around his head and he just grunts in response, pressing his whole face into your cunt, his nose just under your clit. You thrash when he moves his head side to side, growling and fucking you with his tongue while smothered between your legs.

He couldn't hold you still if he wanted to at this point, you're shoving your entire body toward his mouth, chanting _Alpha, Alpha_ , as if your repetition of the words ensures he won't stop.

With a mouthful of your snatch, he strokes his cock with one and and swipes his finger through the wetness of your folds. His reach is long enough to shove his sullied fingers into your mouth, pressing two over you tongue as you suck, cheeks hollowing when you taste yourself.

You come again with his fingers pressed into the back of your tongue, wiggling toward the back of your throat as you clench and tug at the fingers inside your cunt, and his tongue still lapping without pause over your little bud.

It's too much. It's been years since anyone made you feel anything close to this amount of pleasure and reaching your peak again and again leaves you lifeless and spent, as you shake from the force of your climax. Clenching your thighs together you pull at his shoulders, making it clear that you can't take anymore of his mouth or his fingers, at least not tonight. You're raw and wet and glowing from efforts as his gets to his knees.

Fisting his cock he strokes himself faster and faster, bottom lip caught under white teeth. You watch as he comes shooting over you belly and breasts until you're covered in his warm seed and he's panting with his cock in his hand.

Seemingly satisfied he lays down beside you, pulling you to his chest. He seems unphased by your slick skin, the wetness of his seed painting his chest as you lay over his, nuzzling, tired and happy, into the crook of his neck.

"I feel I could sleep for a week." You sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his arms cradling you to him. "It felt like forever, waiting for you to return. I could not find peaceful rest without you here."

"I am here now." He sighs, a wonderful content sound that relaxes every inch of your body against his. "And I have no plans to leave you again any time soon."

You fall asleep with the muted sound of Sam's heart thumping strong and constant below your cheek.

You wake up before the sun has crested over the horizon. There's a soft glow from the fire below, still burning from Sam's efforts. There's a twinge between your legs. While you were sated enough to fall asleep, you suspect it was more exhaustion than satisfaction that allowed you to rest. It's been four years since your last cycle and impossible to know what the future will hold but right now you're still in heat, its ebb and flow controlling every inch of your body.

Rolling your neck you work out a few kinks before turning to the large body sleeping sound beside you. Sam's on his back, on hand on the blanket at his waist. You watch his naked chest rise and fall slowly, admiring his body, free of any audience. His arms are strong and thick and you shudder as you remember what they felt like holding you down as you came on his mouth the night before.

In an effort to reward him for his generous efforts between you legs, you reach over, gently pulling the blanket away from his torso. His cock is warm and soft, laying against his thigh and you delight in thought of being the one to bring it to life. You check to ensure he's still sleeping inch your way down this until you're on your side with his manhood inches from your faces.

If there's one thing you're both good at and well versed in, it's this. You're a skilled lover and while you might be a bit out of practice, it doesn't stop you from polishing your talents.

Urged on by the growing ache between your legs you lean in, nestling your nose into the baby soft skin of his balls and press a kiss to his thigh. He makes a small sound, but when you check his eyes are closed. With one hand you cup his sack and use the other to grasps his cock and bring it your to your mouth. You suck him softly, just enough to get the reaction you're looking for. He's not yet awake but his manhood stiffens with each sweep of your tongue until he's thick and erect like the night before.

You move onto your hands and knees, bending down to bob on his length as your fingers stroke him and your tongue laps the little v under the head of his cock. It's when you take him fully into you mouth, letting him tap the back of your throat that he groans. There's a hand in your hair, fingers tugging as he grunts louder this time and you swallow him whole, taking him into your throat until your eyes water.

You come off him with a wet smack, wiping spit from your lips as you look up and find him staring down at you. His eyes narrow, darting from your mouth down to his shiny cock standing at attention.

"Good morning." You grin, moving back to take him into you mouth. He stops you, one hand in your hair, the other cupping your cheek.

"You don't have to do that." His tone is soft and sweet. He truly is full of surprises.

"Are you not enjoying it?" You inquire, sliding your thumb under the sensitive head of his prick.

"I am." He grunts. "But I don't want you to feel that I expect anything from you-"

"Samuel," you cut him off. "Stop talking. I want to taste you."

He chuckles, his laughs stopping short as you take him yet again. "As you wish…"

You suck and stroke him with your tongue and mouth, enjoying the strained noises he makes in returns. But your mouth soon proves to be too much and he reaches down, grabbing your arms and pulling you off his cock.

"You'll finish me too soon like that and I have no intention of being done." He speaks casually as he hauls you up his body, clearly enjoying his view as you straddle his waist.

"I hope you intend to finish what you started last night." You rolls your hips, sliding downward until your sex finds his cock.

"You look disappointed." He observes, his frown dissolves as his mouth falls open in pleasure.

"I am," you whisper, rubbing your cunt over his cock, letting him slide between your wet folds, base to tip before rocking back again. "Why didn't you claim me? You could have easily...didn't even... _fuck_ me."

You whisper the word _fuck_ , bold enough to say it to him but still unsure because of how unnatural it sounds when you say it.

A smile pulls at the corner of his lips, he could get used to such vulgar profanity out of your sweet mouth. Sam lays back, enjoying the view of you sitting on him. He reaches forward, spreading a hand over your stomach and rubbing his thumb over your clit. You groan as he rubs in small circles, your head tipping to the side as you bite your lower lip. As a reward you slide along his prick again.

"Don't be upset with me." Sam places his free hand at your hip. "I could have asked you to roll in mud and hop on one leg for me last night and you would have done it. You were so desperate for relief you would have fucked anything that crawled between your legs. I didn't want you like that, not the first time. I want you like this."

"Good answer," you lean down to kiss him, sliding your tongue along his lower lip before sealing your mouth to his.

"But this morning you seem to be of sound mind and body. I have no qualms about taking advantage of you now." He grins, his eyes sweeping across your breasts and down further as you slide over his cock.

"I won't protest."

"I'll make you mine, Princess, if it's what you want." It's the first time he's ever used the moniker with affection. Pure joy shoots from your heart to your head and you laugh from the aniticipation.

"I want it, more than anything."

"Say it, tell me." He insists.

"I want to be yours." You confess feeling a heat rising to your cheeks.

"If I were to put my pups in your belly and watch you grow with my child, would you want that as well?" His words make you clench, empty cunt tightening at the thought of bearing his children.

"Yes but…" you hesitate, hips coming to stop. "I'm not as young as I once was… and I did try before."

"You're plenty young." Sam spreads a hand across your stomach, "You'll give me a child, I'll make sure of it."

Reaching behind you he slides both hands under your buttocks and lifts you with a flex of his biceps. You reach between your bodies, grasping his cock, just enough to catch the head between your lips and then he lets go and you sink onto his length until your clit of flush with his pubic hair. He's big and thick, certainly larger than any man you've been with and it's a glorious stretch that forces you to concentrate as he nudges deep inside.

Sam makes a noise, the likes of which you've never heard before, a low growl of approval that spurs you into action. Using your thighs you lift yourself up, nearly letting him slip out before sinking back down. Sam grunts, bothing hands clasp your hips to make sure you don't stop moving.

"Have you ever taken an Alpha knot before?" He asks. The very thought of him knotting you makes you squeeze around his prick..

"No," you moan, shaking your head adamantly. You can only imagine what it feels like when he claims you, stretched beyond reason.

"My blushing virgin," he chuckles, his smile fading into lust when you rock your hips with more ferver, riding him at a pace just fast enough to quell the fire in your belly. Sam sits up with you in his lap, holding you close, his chest pressing against your breasts as your nipples drag across his sparse chest hair. His cock feels hard and thick as you move with him inside you, his lips sucking at the skin of your shoulder. Moving to peck at your breasts, his teeth scrap softly along the swell of your bossom as he cups one of your breasts in his hand. His lips are still on your skin as he looks up to you, speaking softly. "Shall I make you my wife as well?"

You heart nearly stops at his suggestion and you kiss him before responding, tangling your fingers into his hair, using the force of your grip to bring his mouth to yours. "I should like nothing more."

He kisses you deep and strong, his tongue darting past your lips and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close. When he pulls away from you he cups his hands under yours buttocks once again and lifts you off his cock in a single, swift motion. You lay back, spreading your legs, but he taps at your side, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before giving further instruction.

"Roll over." His voice is soft and but the words seem powerful, sending a pang of application through your entire body. You look at him, blinking and a bit overwhelmed before rolling onto your belly. His finger curls around your hips, pulling your backside into the air. "On and your hands and knees."

You assume the position feeling rather prone, but any flicker of hesitation leaves when you feel him settle between you legs. The blunt head of his prick presses between the folds of your sex, Sam surges into you from behind until his hips are pressed into your backside and the whole world stops for a moment. He stays flush inside as you try to stifle the string of moaning babble that falls from your mouth. He's deeper like this, deep and thick inside where you're tight and wet. With a satisfied grunt, he pulls back and shoves forward, thrusting with a long powerful stroke that you make you see stars.

"Is this too much?" Sam stills as his fingers dig into your flesh.

"No," you sputter, reaching behind you, trying to anchor yourself to something. "Please don't stop."

He doesn't say anything, just pumps his hips forward again and again, fucking with the entire length of his hard cock. After the first few minutes your body adjusts and you're able to get your wits about you, moving with him, rocking steady with his increasing rhythm. The pleasure from him being inside you is more than you thought was possible, he's thick and stiff moving into you again and again but it's more than just that. You love him completely and the idea that a man who you care this deeply for can also make you feel this pleasured feels too good to be true.

Sam's grunts and groans are increasing in volume, as is the sound of his skin smacking against your backside. He doesn't have to tell you what's happening because you can feel his knot swelling until he has to really work to get it in you with a final thrust that lodges him securely inside. It doesn't exactly hurt but it's uncomfortable, an expanding pressure stretching the walls of your cunt to the absolute limit until he's spurting hot and sticky, offering a new grunt with each of pulse of his cock as he fills you with his seed until it's leaking from around where your bodies are joined and coating your thighs.

It's when he curls over your back and his knot tugs inside your clutching pussy that you come. His chest presses against your shoulders as your orgasms explodes, tearing through your body as you sob with pleasure, writhing under the weight of him. Still in the throws of ecstasy you feel his teeth at the bend of your neck, clamping down and then sinking deeper as he tears into the tender flesh.

This part does hurt. You squeal, lurching forward, the pain slightly tempered by pleasure, but not enough to overshadow the sharp burn of his teeth breaking the skin and blood pouring from the wound as his mouth seals over it. Collapsing onto your stomach, Sam's weight falls onto you, pinning you under him.

"Sam," you howl, flailing beneath him as he holds you in place, his tongue lapping over the broken flesh. You don't want the tears to fall, you want to be strong and find a way to appreciate this moment because he's just claimed you, made you his with this bite - but you weren't prepared for the agony of it and fat tear slide down your cheeks.

'Don't cry my love." He nuzzles into the side of your face, both arms framing your shoulders. " I know it hurts but it's only this one time and it's done now."

"I'm sorry," you sputter, choking back tears.

"Don't think about the pain." He kisses your shoulder, then your neck, his mouth reaching its final destination at the shell of your ear. One hand slides under your belly, finger brushing over your clit and down to where his cock is firmly tucked inside your body. "Concentrate on how you feel _here_."

You close your eyes, focusing on his touch as he glides over your little bundle of nerves, coaxing out enough pleasure to help you momentarily forget about his bite.

"You can come one more time for me?" He inquires, voice low and even.

"I think so." Shuttering, you rock slowly under him, his cock tugging inside your cunt as you undulate to the rhythm of his hand. It doesn't take long, you reach your peak with Sam inside and around you, every inch of your being connected to his as you gasp and writhe until you find it impossible to take anymore.

Sam pulls you with him onto his side, careful of his knot where it's locked inside you. He's able to pull out after a few minutes and instead of falling back to sleep you fight exhaustion and turn in his arms to face him.

The two of you lie in silence for what feels like a lifetime, staring at each other in a lovesick haze. His hands are everywhere, trailing up your back and cupping your face. You kiss him soft and slow, enjoying this moment when everything is new and seemingly perfect.

How different your life will be from here. What a strange series of events lead you to this moment… and neither of you would change a thing, because fate's given you both a second chance at love and you're ready to embrace it.

"Does it still hurt?" Sam inquires, his hand swinging out to grab yours as you walk side by side. The afternoon is warm and you're happy to be out of bed for the first time in two days. Sam kept you well satisfied until your heat broke and even then took more pleasure for himself, much to your encouragement.

"Your bite?" You confirm his question, raising a hand to your neck as you turn to look up at him. "A bit I suppose, but it's not altogether unpleasant. It's a nice...reminder."

A familiar red flushes your cheeks, you can't stop blushing as your mind replays the events of the previous two days. It's amazing how confident you feel naked in his bed, what a contrast to the embarrassment you feel as he looks at you now.

"You're blushing, Princess." Sam chides, pulling you to him where you find yourself tucked under his arm.

"Am not," you refute softly, leaning into him, arms wrapping around his waist.

"So, tell me, where do we go from here? Do you plan on learning to cook and clean as a wife should?" You don't even have to look at him to know he's laughing, you can feel this body shaking in amusement.

"Be careful of your words. I might just make another stew that you'll be obligated to eat."

"I take it back." He chuckles, tightening his grip around your shoulders. "I want you to know that I'll always take care of you, protect you. Always."

"Well," you look up at him, placing a hand on his chest. "I promise to love and take care of you. Always."

"What a good match." He utters, leaning down to kiss you.

And this is truly where your story begins, the first moments of a lifelong love that's worthy of a fairy tale.


End file.
